


Jane and Clara's Infinite Playlist

by Alexandria (heartfullofelves)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Inspired by Novel, Jane Austen likes pop music, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:56:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/pseuds/Alexandria
Summary: Clara introduces Jane Austen to pop music. And other things.





	

Clara met Jane Austen at a tea party in the year 1800. The Doctor _swore_ it was an important tea party but refused to tell her why, and they were both surprised and delighted when one of the guests was introduced as Miss Jane Austen. Clara hit it off with Jane right away, though she had to conceal what she, coming from Jane’s future, knew about her, as well as the fact that she was a Big Fan, since Jane wouldn’t be published for another decade.

Jane suggested they “take a turn about the room”, a phrase that made Clara grin like a fangirl, and they discussed balls and dancing. Clara talked herself out of trouble by saying she hadn’t attended a ball in a very long time but she loved music.

“Do you have a favourite song?” asked Jane, arm looped through Clara’s.

Clara blinked, and didn’t have time to think of a period-appropriate answer. “I like _Break the Rules_ by Charli- I mean, Miss Charlotte XCX,” she blurted.

“I’m afraid I don’t know that one,” admitted Jane. “Can you hum it?”

“I can do better than that.” Clara pulled out her phone and played the song.

Once the music stopped, Jane stared at Clara. “That was wonderful! Such a catchy tune, with entertaining – fun, even – lyrics. I can see why it is a favourite of yours, Miss Oswald.”

Clara grinned. “It is a fun song.” She put her phone away while Jane was still invested in the song rather than the device it had been played on.

“I have not heard anything of its like,” Jane went on. “It almost sounds like it comes from another time.” She laughed, the notion absurd to her.

“There’s a simple explanation, Miss Jane,” said Clara with a glance over at the Doctor, who was entertaining the guests with a banana, of all things. She shook her head at him and turned back to Jane. “Can I tell you something? A secret, obviously, or I wouldn’t be whispering.”

Jane leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Of course.”

Clara tried not to get distracted by Jane’s chest, which was now close to her own. “That song I just played for you is from the year 2015. As am I.”

Jane’s eyes widened and her eyebrows almost disappeared under her hair. “That object you played the music on… is that also from the year 2015?”

“I got it last year, actually,” Clara confessed. “2014, I mean. Old model.”

“Miss Oswald, you are without a doubt the most fascinating woman I have ever met,” declared Jane, taking Clara’s hand. “I am honoured and humbled to meet a traveller of time from the 21st Century.”

“I’m an English teacher in my spare time,” Clara offered. Then she said, “Now you know the truth, would you like to see where I come from? I’ll take you on a night out in the 21st Century.”

Jane’s face lit up. “I would be delighted!”

“I’ll just go and tell the Doctor.”

“The Doctor?” Jane frowned. “What does he have to do with this?”

“It’s his ship we travel in,” explained Clara, deciding not to confuse Jane by telling her they could travel in space as well as time. Time-travel was one thing, alien worlds quite another.

“The Doctor is a traveller of time too? Does that mean he is not really a doctor?” Jane looked over at the man, examining his clothes and manner.

“You catch on quickly.” Clara grinned. “He’ll like you. He can’t stand slow people.” _I like you too_ , she thought. _More than like, actually_ , if she were honest with herself. And when it came to Jane Austen, it seemed she couldn’t help being honest.

* * *

Clara stepped out from the Tardis onto the London street. It was early evening on an uneventful day in 2015, and the sun was low in the sky. She held her hand out to Jane, who followed her onto the pavement, wearing black jeans, high-heeled ankle boots, and a pale blue peasant blouse. Clara tried not to stare: Jane Austen, famous writer and attractive woman from the early 19th Century, was wearing skinny jeans.

“Welcome to 2015!” she announced, keeping Jane’s hand in hers as they walked down the street.

“It looks so different,” observed Jane, looking around them and taking it all in. “So this is what the world will look like in 200 years. Incredible.”

She jumped as a car rushed past them tooting its horn. “What’s that?” she cried, clutching Clara’s hand.

“That was a car. It’s like a carriage, but it runs on a motor rather than being driven by horses. You can travel longer distances by car.”

“It looked like a metal box,” Jane said in wonder.

“That’s about it,” replied Clara. “A very expensive metal box that can travel at 100 miles an hour. Are you hungry?” she asked in the same breath.

Jane shot her an odd look, causing Clara to remember that in Jane Austen’s time, one did not speak quite so boldly of bodily requirements. “Yes.”

“Do you like French food?” Clara also remembered Jane’s sensitive health, and decided plain food would be best, and perhaps more familiar than anything else you might be able to get at this time of day. “I know a nice place nearby.”

Jane enjoyed the restaurant, gawping at the other customers’ clothes and table manners, asking Clara if it were acceptable for the young boy sitting with his family to ignore everything in favour of the modern gadget he held next to his plate.

“It’s frowned upon, but it’s not the worst thing a teenager can do.”

Jane frowned. “Teenager?”

“Oh,” said Clara, “it’s a young person aged 13 to 19.”

“I see. I suppose language will transform somewhat in the next two centuries.”

“‘Somewhat’ is an understatement,” muttered Clara.

“I’m surprised you and I can understand each other at all,” Jane remarked, putting her cutlery together on her empty plate.

“The Tardis translates everything,” explained Clara, finishing her salad. “So even if we travelled to prehistoric times, we could still understand what the apes were saying.”

“Apes?”

“Never mind.”

After the restaurant, Jane asked what they could do next.

“Well,” said Clara, “I happen to have tickets to _Much Ado About Nothing_.”

“Shakespeare!” Jane clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “What joy! Come, Miss Oswald, let us away!” She linked her arm through Clara’s and they walked to the bus stop.

The bus ride to the theatre was short, but Jane was thrilled and terrified the whole way, and Clara kept finding excuses to hold Jane’s hand – either to stop her being scared, or to prevent her from looking like a clueless person from the 19th Century. The handholding continued when they entered the theatre, for it turned out that Jane was not a fan of crowds. Clara tried not to smile at this.

The two women enjoyed the play, and they walked out laughing and chattering away like old friends. Clara then took Jane on the tube, an experience that scared Jane even more than the bus. At the end of the ride, they walked a few blocks from the station to Clara’s flat.

As she unlocked the door, Clara said, “We can listen to some more modern music, if you like.”

“I would love to,” Jane enthused.

They sat on the sofa as Clara played music on her laptop, naming the artist and the year the song came out. Jane Austen particularly liked t.A.T.u., but hated Justin Timberlake. She tapped her fingers against the end of the couch in time to a Spice Girls song while Clara watched with a fond smile, resting her head on the back of the couch.

After almost an hour, she mused, “We should go clubbing.”

“Pardon?”

“Dancing. We should go dancing.”

“But I haven’t the shoes…”

“What you’re wearing is fine,” she drawled the word a little, and winced. “I mean, you don’t need to change anything. What you’ve got on is great.”

It should not have come as a surprise, but Jane hated clubbing even more than she’d hated standing amongst the masses at the theatre. The music – which she _would_ have enjoyed – was far too loud, the people were too close together and she had no idea how to dance like them, and the public displays disgusted her.

As they left the club, she said in Clara’s ear, “So far I like everything about the year 2015… except for that nightclub.”

“Sorry! Hey, I wonder if there are any bookshops open.” Clara was feeling energised now, and wasn’t ready to go home.

Jane brightened. “Bookshops?” But her face fell when she asked, “At this time of night?”

“It’s London: anything is possible,” said Clara, putting her arm around Jane’s shoulders as a passing man looked at Jane for a second too long. With her other hand, she got her phone and did a quick Google search. “We’ll have to take the tube, but there is a bookshop that’s open until 2. Let’s go.” She grabbed Jane’s hand and they ran to the train station.

As soon as they got inside the bookshop, Clara jumped in front of the A section, hiding it from view. Jane began browsing at the other end of the alphabet, but then she had the same idea as Clara and ran to the As.

“Nope.” Clara turned around, holding out her arms and legs to shield the books from view. “First rule of time-travel: don’t change the past. Second rule of time-travel: don’t get curious about your future.”

Jane tilted her head and widened her eyes. “But Clara…”

“No.” Clara’s voice was firm. “You can’t know. I’m sorry, Jane, but I can’t let you see. If you find out you didn’t get published, you might give up on writing altogether and therefore prevent yourself from ever getting published. If you find out you did get published, you might get lazy and not work hard enough to get published. You see the paradox?”

Jane sighed, lips downturned.

“I know how tempting it is,” said Clara, “especially since I’m telling you not to do it. But even one peek could ruin your future.”

Jane nodded, and went to look at the collection of Shakespeare the shop had on the shelf.

Clara was about to have a look under Bronte when she heard the Tardis materialise outside. Sighing, she found Jane and told her they had to go, wishing the night had been longer.

When she said goodbye to Jane, dropping her off in 1800, back in her normal Regency clothes, Clara whispered in her ear, “Don’t ever stop writing.”

Jane raised her eyebrows, then, when she understood – or at least thought she understood – she kissed Clara on the cheek. “Thank you for a truly incredible evening, Miss Oswald. I do hope to see you again.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Call me Clara. We did just have a date night 200 years in your future, after all.”

“Date night?” Jane frowned.

“Never mind. Remember not to say a word of this to _anyone_ , okay?”

Jane nodded. “Who would believe me if I did? But I understand. Visit me sometime soon, Clara.”

Clara smiled. “Of course. I have so much more to show you, Jane Austen. We’ve only just started, you and me.”

And so they had.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan.


End file.
